


Non Serviam

by Strange and Intoxicating -rsa- (strangeandintoxicating)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M, These boys deserve happiness, based on fanart, guardian angel!Ignis, prince!Noctis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-01-28 02:58:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12596616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangeandintoxicating/pseuds/Strange%20and%20Intoxicating%20-rsa-
Summary: There is one purpose for guardian angels: To stay with their human until it is their time to pass into the Beyond. Some angels, though... their purpose is so much more.Ignis, the guardian angel of the Chosen King... He knows what he must do, but knowing the choice and accepting it are two vastly different things.Guardian Angel AU based off of Soulmarshal's artwork





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ahaha. Oh, god. What am I doing with another Ignoct AU? Well, I am hoping to make all of you happy and sad in equal measures. 
> 
> I started talking with Soulmarshal a few weeks back about this fic, getting their permission to write it. It's been a lot of fun planning out where this story will go, so I hope that you all will enjoy the ride!
> 
> If anyone wants to check our soulmarshal,[you can find them here](https://soulmarshal.tumblr.com)
> 
> You can also find me [ on tumblr as rsasai.](https://rsasai.tumblr.com)

When Noctis was four years old, he had an imaginary friend named Iggy. 

To those in the Citadel, they considered it something of a way for the young prince to protect himself from the horrors of the loss of his mother who had passed only a few months prior. The entire country had been rocked by the death of Queen Aulea, with Noctis taking it the worst of all. Distraught, Noctis had refused food or the touch of even his father for weeks. He was so young, so frail in health and in spirits, that the simple act of creating a friend from the ether seemed so very logical. It was a healthy coping mechanism, the doctors had explained to a frantic Regis, who had walked into Noctis's bedroom to find him laughing at a joke with no punchline.  

It was something that most children, especially those who did not have siblings, would do when they were young. It was simple and common; a way for the Prince to experience a normal childhood outside of the walls of the Citadel. In the wide expanse of loneliness, a child could create beautiful new realities.

It was human, and Prince Noctis was nothing if not _human_.

To many on staff, it was not uncommon to see Noctis walking the halls, his hand outstretched for a hand that was not there. Their conversations were as vast and deep as the ocean, but nothing that was unusual or upsetting: Prince Noctis explaining his favorite toy, the new book he was reading, his school assignments. They would take long, rambling walks in the gardens, make sandcastles, and even play hide and seek within the Citadel.

The last one... That had worried some, and fairly so. Noctis was good at playing, and sometimes wouldn't come out for hours. He would sometimes only return long after supper was already cold and the maids were frantic as the searched the hundreds of rooms. All Noctis would say was that his friend wanted to show him something interesting. He would smile and bat his eyelashes slowly, in the way he knew always worked to his advantage.

No one in the Citadel could tell him no. Not when he looked up at them like _that_.

He talked about traveling around Eos. From the Rock of Ravatogh to the hills of Ulwaat and then the beaches of Galdin Quay. He heard the roar of behemoths in Duscae and watched as the Catoblepas bathed in the lake near Alstor Slough. He even dared to trek through the deserts of Vogliupe. It was a childhood of books and fantasy. It was normal for such a sickly boy to find himself inhabiting a dream worlds where he could be a child. There, in the bramble of trees and the empty cities, Noctis could be just a little boy, with all the hopes and dreams any other little boy had.

He sometimes talked about the Carbuncle that would appear with them, and no one had questioned that, either. It wasn't unheard of for the family guardian to pop in from time to time, protecting young princes and princesses from the terror that was childhood. Even Regis swore that when he was a little boy Carbuncle had gotten into silly adventures with him.

But that was just the dreamscape.

Sometimes, when the maids would wash Noctis's clothes, they would find sand or sooty patches on the knees and seashells in his pockets. Once they even found Ulwaat berries smeared across the bottom of Noctis's favorite pair of shoes, though how Noctis had managed to find Ulwaat berries (let alone eat them) had been a question no one wanted to ask.

Some things... Some things were better off not knowing the answer to. Some did, however, ask anyway.

When anyone would ask Noctis, he would only shrug his shoulders and give simple responses, responses that were so unlike his usual, boisterous self. He would purse his lips and just whisper, "My friend. Iggy."

For a period of time, some wondered if there was something going on; was there a hidden kitten in the Citadel, one that Noctis had found and kept hidden in one of the libraries? Were there hidden passageways? Or, as most believed, was Noctis just particularly good at finding dark, small spaces that no one would find him in so that he could sneak away a few extra hours of sleep whenever he wanted? 

Some thought it was more sinister, that there was someone in the Citadel... but it was ruled out immediately with a visit to the physician. Noctis was happy and healthy, and this "Iggy" character was nothing but the whispers of a child. One guard floated the suggestion that it was something to do with the Crystal, that maybe Noctis was really traveling across Eos. Maybe he was seeing the things he spoke of, though even the King had a good laugh at the mere suggestion.

That was not how the ring or the magic worked. That was not the purpose of their bloodline; they were meant to keep the Crystal safe and to protect the Gods. Traveling for the beauty of a sunset or to uncover the mystery of long-forgotten ruins... 

That was a child's fantasy and Noctis was a very imaginative little boy.

Or, at least, he _was_.

It stopped when Noctis was eight and the Marilith had taken its pound of flesh from the little boy's back. Bleeding and broken, their Princes was closer to death than life. His skin, cold to touch. His breaths, faint and rattled.

The gods had left him, but had exacted their own revenge upon the Marilith. She had been burned, a raging and effervescent fire that had lit the night sky in its dazzling glow. The other daemons, attracted by the commotion and the smell of blood, had burned into soft ash, blowing upon the howling wind. The fire burned hot and long, though the moment Regis arrived the fire parted in a perfect path to Noctis.

It was touch and go for weeks; Noctis slept and the world continued around him. The only thing that showed he was still with them was his eyes that fluttered like butterfly wings and the soft pitter-patter of his heart.   

Regis never left his side. He stayed in the room, sitting in the rocking chair he had given to Aulea when they found out she was pregnant. The velvet felt like sandpaper on his skin, but even after the worst of the infection was removed and the muscles began to knit themselves back together, Regis stayed sitting.

It was delirium. That much Regis knew; he had barely slept, barely eaten, barely even spoken since the night the fires opened and his son had been left covered in his own blood and the vestiges of what was left of the Marilith. 

But there was a man sitting on Noctis's bed, hand gently—reverently—brushing the hair from his eyes. He was dressed in a dark suit, one that Regis knew only from the drawings Noctis had decorated his office with. There was a burn across his face, the skin more molten lava than human flesh.  

_Iggy_.

"I'm sorry I failed you," the figure whispered, his voices broken that Regis could almost visibly see the pain on his face. "Noctis... Please. Forgive me."

Noctis's eyes fluttered and he whispered, soft and sweet, broken by lack of use and dryness. "Ig—eh."

Regis tried to stand, tried to fight against whatever force held him down, but Regis could not move. He could do nothing but watch in terror as the man leaned closer, pressing a chaste kiss to Noctis's brow. "Hush. Rest, Noctis. Rest and grow strong. I will grow stronger for you, too." 

The man... the way he looked at Noctis—there was a dread and fear in the pit of Regis's stomach, because this man was _real_ and he was in the Citadel, and there was no reason for that to be happening. The staff were on high alert, the highest it had been since the threat of war when his father was still king. There were no less than a dozen armed guards outside of Noctis's chambers at all times and yet here this man was, sitting in his son's bedroom. Sitting in his son's bedroom with his hands on him.

How dare he—what kind of monster would dare enter the King's home and put even a single finger upon the Prince? How had he gotten in? What kind of witchcraft or sorcery had he used? 

Regis tried again to fight against the invisible bindings around him, only able to struggle a centimeter in either direction. When the man looked away from Noctis and toward him, his blood ran cold.

There were rumors of them. Stories from the old books of Solheim, books that had long ago fallen out of favor. Regis knew them because they were the legends of the Astrals and the beings that they had created. It hadn't been so obvious when he was busy staring at the man's hands and his face, but now that Regis could see the man at his full height—yes. He knew exactly what this man was. No, not a man. He was many things, but not _man_.

The panic grew even further.

"You should not be able to see me," he said, his voice cool and single green eye narrowed. "Why can you see me?"

But Regis could say nothing as the angel of death—for that must have been what he was—walked closer to Regis.

"You are not my charge, and yet you can see me?" he asked, making sure to draw back his arms. Across the outline of Noctis's shelves and windows were the shadows of wings. 

Regis found his head slowly nodding, though the rest of his body was still frozen in place.

_"_ You are his father. You were meant to protect him." It was more of a hiss than words, and Regis found himself once again nodding his head. Yes. He had failed Noctis, he had allowed the daemon to hurt him. "You failed him."

This was Regis's fault.

"You mustn't let it happen again. You must keep him safe when I cannot."

But why would an angel of death want to keep Noctis safe? Their purpose was to take life, not to keep it. Not to cherish it. Why was he here? Why had he chosen Noctis?

He wanted to ask the angel this, but the angel turned swiftly on his heels back toward Noctis. 

"He is the most precious thing in this world," he said. "If any further harm shall befall him—I will do what is necessary to keep him safe. You may be a king, but you are nothing to me. He is _everything_."

Regis tried again to speak, and this time he was allowed to utter one word. "How?"

"I do not care how you do it. Your guards. Your sword. Your ring—use the powers the gods have granted upon your line."

"And you?"

If the room could have gotten colder, it was in that moment. An angel of death stared at him as though he were but an ant. To an immortal being, to something that had lived for millennia upon millennia, he _was_ nothing but an ant. And ants, like any other bug, were squished under the heel of those above them. 

A king and a servant were the same when looking into the angry eye of a monster that was forged from Etro herself.

"You will not question me, human. You will protect him. You will never allow him to be put into such danger again."

There was the sound then, the sound of a whine that made both Regis and the angel turn toward Noctis.

"Noctis—please." The angel was by his side, resting his hands against the boy's forehead. "Hush..."

The light was a pale glow of gold, a glimmer of beauty surrounded by the angel's darkness. It encircled Noctis's head and his lids which were previously fighting to open went slack.

"Dream of our place... the trees, the roots... shhhh. Remember the lake, focus... I'm here. Can you find me, Noctis? I'll always be here. Look for your friend. Find Carbuncle. He will guide you to me."

When the magic faded away, Noctis went limp. The angel of death leaned down again and whispered something into the boy's ear, so soft that Regis could not hear.

"No—please—"

"He is sleeping," the angel replied. "His wounds are grievous. He must be made to rest. The magic... It will give him that time." A pained look crossed his face for a moment, before the mask snapped back into the place. If he hadn't been injured, Regis would have never noticed the way his mouth trembled and the way his injured eye leaked a faint, nearly unnoticeable tear. "Let him rest, and say nothing of what you have seen today."

Regis wanted to protest, to question, to scream at the angel for what his Gods had done to Noctis. His fate... His fate was already to become their martyr. Could they not give him peace?

"Do not dare place that blame upon me," he hissed as he clenched his fist. "Human, you know nothing. He is everything to me. _Everything_."

A wind blew through the room, the lights dimming and the window panes began to shake.

"We will not fail him again."

Over the years, as Regis watched Noctis grow, the feeling of agony and anguish would feel like a weight upon his chest. It was in those moments that he would force himself to recall the angel of death who had visited him so long ago. The quivering upper lip of an angel, the tightened fists, the green eye that glowed in the darkness.

_We will not fail him again..._

Those words had been etched into Regis's mind when he had picked up Noctis from his wheelchair and ran from Glauca. It was in his heart when he did not turn to save Princess Lunafreya. It was in the turbulent hours when Tenebrae was conquered, the heads of those who had disobeyed put on spikes outside of Fenestala Manor. It had been in his eyes as he watched Noctis go from broken boy to broken man.

Noctis didn't remember the man that he had called Iggy, with his dark suit and purple leopard print shirt. He didn't talk about the scar slashed across his back, nor of the pale golden streak of hair that had appeared in his bangs where the angel hand pressed his lips and magic against him.

It was always there, like a watchful set of eyes that Regis could feel but not see. He knew that with time.... with time the angel of death would return for Noctis, and he would be powerless to stop it. 

And Regis wondered.... how was he to keep Noctis safe when the gods had already assigned him an executioner?


	2. Chapter 2

There was a beauty in simplicity. 

Noctis knew it sounded ridiculous, but there was something pure in the way a seashell spiraled, in the sound of crickets chirping in the night, at the sky dotted with a thousand-thousand stars. He could spend his days sitting at a pier with nothing but his favorite fishing rod and some lure and he would only know the passage of time by the way his fingers creaked against the metal and the sun disappeared on the horizon. 

That was the life he wanted. It was the life he had yearned for. 

When he was a child, he had thought of the simplicity of life, of the beauty of the dew on the grass in his father’s favorite garden and the frost on Citadel’s windows. He had been taught to appreciate life, because the gods were fickle and his life was not meant to be long. He was nothing but a human, Prince or not. 

Someone had taught him that. 

Noctis stared up at his ceiling, looking at the pale cracks of sunlight that cascaded from the window in a wave of yellow. What a ridiculous thing to think about. He had been taught in therapy after the Marilith attack that he was lonely, that he created a friend to keep him company throughout his childhood. It made sense—lots of children did it. Hells, even Prompto told him that when he was a kid he talked to an identical version of himself to keep him company. 

It wasn’t often that he thought about his imaginary friend, but whenever the sun reminded him of flame or the moon crested over the sky, there was a content feeling deep inside. He felt safe and warm, though he always knew what was just past the surface. 

There were better things to focus on. Better things to think about. Or, well, more  _ pressing _ things. 

Noctis groaned and pulled the pillow over his face, knowing that in just a moment Lazarus would start banging on his door. It was unfortunate, considering he was eighteen years old, that he had to stay living in the Citadel. It was nice enough, Noctis supposed, but there was no freedom to really just be himself. There were always Kingsglaive posted at his door, just waiting to burst in at any moment. 

He couldn’t even jerk off in peace. It was like Lazarus and Furia got off on his suffering, the sadists they were. And that one time he tried hooking up with a classmate when he was in high school had ended so badly that Noctis was half-convinced he was cursed. 

Noctis reached up to run his fingers through his hair, a nail catching on a few golden hairs. He tried to dye the damn things, but nothing stuck for more than a washing or two. What a waste. 

_ Bang. Bang bang.  _

“Your Highness, Captain Drautos says if you aren’t out of bed he’ll throw you in the shower himself.” The laughter rousing from the other side of the his door made Noctis grit his teeth. 

“Fine,” Noctis muttered, then a little louder when he could hear the jingling of the door handle, “I said fine, damn it!”

Ignoring the uncomfortableness in his pants, Noctis managed to pull himself out of bed and throw himself into the shower. 

Today was training and more training, before being topped up with even more training. He had expected that graduation would give him the ability to sleep in on Tuesday mornings, but unfortunately for him, Captain Drautos was more of a hardass than any had previously given him credit for. 

Sometimes it was more than Noctis could take, and he woke covered in a sheen of sweat, remembering the fire of the Marilith and the burning of Tenebrae. He would find himself lying in a pool of his own sweat and fear, the scar across his back biting into his nerves. He would be forced to take bed rest for a day or two, until the spasms stopped, and then Drautos was back to riding him during training until he pushed too far the next time. 

And there always was a next time. 

Noctis rested his head against the black and gold tiles on the wall of his shower, allowing the cool water to trickle down his sore skin. He ignored the area between his legs, knowing that if he even tried he would probably end up falling backward and cracking his skull open, instead focusing on the way his skin felt, the way he could control his breathing. 

Noctis could do this.

But it didn’t make it suck any less. 

 

* * *

 

It was a Tuesday, which meant weight and endurance training from eight in the morning until ten, with an hour study break followed by weapons training. He would only get to swipe a quick lunch, then would spend the rest of his afternoon trying his best not to kill himself with his magic. He would keep that up until his arms were so sore that he wanted to fall back into his bed and just die. 

It was every single Tuesday since he had graduated from high school, down to the mediocre vegetable-laden sandwich he shoved down his throat, more like sandpaper than anything edible. 

Artisan sandwiches. What a joke. There was nothing artistic about them. 

“Nothing good?” 

Noctis looked up at his afternoon babysitter, trying to manage a small smile for the woman. He was sitting in the garden, one of the few places where he could get a little peace, the plate of sandwiches piled up next to him on a silver platter. 

“Wanna bite?” Noctis held out the toasted sandwich to Crowe, who gave a half-shrug as she pulled a piece from the corner, popping it into her mouth. She plopped herself down on the grass next to him, holding her hand over her face as the sun beat down on them. 

“Little dry,” she managed to say before reaching over, grabbing the other corner. “But not awful.”  

“You can have it,” Noctis told her as he tossed the uneaten sandwich onto the platter, pushing them over to her. “That awful woman put carrots on them.”

“Again?” Crowe asked in mock-horror. “How dare she—off with her head!”

Noctis rolled his eyes. “Dunno if she thinks I can’t see them or that I’ll eventually give in.”

Crowe didn’t answer, instead grabbing one of the offending sandwiches, all but unhinging her jaw to force it in. “Ya kno—mehbeh she’s wannin’ yew ta chell hwer—“

“That’s just gross. You’re not supposed to talk to royalty with food in your mouth.”

Crowe looked around for a moment before leaning forward, shoving the rest of the sandwich straight into Noctis’s mouth. “Dun see any rowalty hwere—“

Noctis allowed himself to laugh, though he nearly choked on something that tasted vaguely  _ green _ as he did. 

Crowe was… Crowe was a bit of a blessing where he hadn’t expected it. She was a good ten years older than Noctis, but still had the humor of a teenager. She was also the best mage in the Kingsglaive, which made it easy to both hate and love her. She was the person who took over most of Noctis’s magic classes when his father was too busy, but also was the same person who wiped the floor with him almost daily. 

She had also been a rather sore point for a period of time when Noctis was younger. The young woman had basically been attached to his father at the hip, the most talented and most beautiful mage in the entire castle. Noctis hadn’t been sure if it was her fiery eyes or her fiery magic that bound her to Regis, but there had been whispers that there was something more romantic going on than met the eye. 

Of course, Crowe had rather spectacularly destroyed that image when she showed up to a Kingsglaive Ball in leather and lace, only leaving after she had managed to save Lazarus’s date from a dull, suffocating night. 

Noctis could still remember Crowe throwing her leather jacket over the woman’s dark shoulders and pale silk gown before lifting her right up into the bike. There had been kissing—enough kissing for Noctis to realize that he very much enjoyed watching ladies kissing—before they took off, Lazarus staring with a gaping mouth as they went. 

It was one of Noctis’s fondest memories, and he held that close to his heart. 

Noctis managed to finish at least what bit of sandwich Crowe had shoved into his mouth, but found himself frowning. 

“What’s wrong.” It was less of a question and more of a command.

“Lazarus this morning.” He hopes it would be enough of an explanation for the woman. 

“Luche’s got a permanent stick up his ass, I know.” Crowe frowned for a moment before slapping her arm on Noctis’s. “I got an idea…”

Noctis’s ears perked up. “Go on…”

“How about we do our warmups, then hit the arcade?” 

It was a rare treat for Crowe to offer to take him outside of the Citadel, but Noctis was on his feet the moment she said it. “Hell yeah! Can I get Prompto to come?”

Crowe nodded. “I’ll get Cor, Libertus, and Nyx to come babysit. That okay with you?”

Noctis nodded. 

He shouldn’t have been so excited—it was just an arcade. But it was the small bit of freedom Noctis had, the one place other than school he was allowed to go. After graduation, well… Noctis almost expected that he would be locked in the Citadel until he was old and gray. 

“Thanks, Crowe.”

“Don’t mention it, kid.

 

* * *

 

Even if he was being babysat like a toddler, the arcade felt like freedom. The spinning and whirring lights, the laughter, the sound of coins hitting plastic, the smells of cheap snacks all made Noctis feel as though he could do anything. Of course, it would only be for a few hours, but it was better than nothing. 

Noctis looked down to his cellphone, tapping on the screen. A bright blue text box popped up on the screen from Prompto. 

“Here you go—fifty bucks in coins, all for you.” Nyx held out the rolls for Noctis, who took them gratefully. “The guy said if you want to trade in prizes to let him know.”

Noctis nodded, looking around the arcade. He could see Libertus at the entrance of the arcade, with Cor poised at the exit. Their official Lucian Crownsguard and Kingsglaive uniforms were traded in for non-descript black suits, but they still looked ready to cause hell. Thankfully Nyx and Crowe had kept it casual, meaning that Noctis could pretend at least that he was normal for a few minutes. 

“Prompto’ll be here in a few minutes.”

Nyx nodded and lifted his finger to his earpiece, whispering in the information. 

“You guys didn’t kick anyone out, right?”

Nyx shook his head. “Some kid’s birthday party. We ran everyone’s IDs before coming. Looks like your skee-ball competition is a bunch of five year olds.”

Noctis pushes up his sleeves. “And you.”

Nyx shook his head. “Not the best of ideas, Prince.”

“What, scared I’ll kick your ass?”

Nyx pursed his lips as Crowe waltzed forward, throwing her arm over Nyx’s shoulder. 

“You two having a pissing contest?” she asked.

“Prince thinks he’s better at Skee-ball than me.”

Crowe gave a whistle before reaching forward to grab a roll of coins from Noctis’s stash. “Ah, yes. Definitely a pissing contest. Can I join?”

“Like I could say no to you,” Noctis muttered as he pocketed the rest of the coined, glaring balefully at Nyx, who was eyeing his coins. “Get your own, Hero.”

Nyx tried not to smile. He didn’t succeed. 

“If I win, then you have to do endurance training every morning for the rest of the month.”

Noctis twitched. Endurance training was usually just Noctis warping up a wall and trying to not fall. Nyx could spend his morning taking a nice, long nap.

“Fine. If I win, you’ll get Furia and Lazarus off morning duty.”

“What, they won’t let you rub one out before training?”

Noctis didn’t make a sound or a face, which was telling enough to Nyx. 

“Oh. That’s harsh.” 

“And if I win, I never want to hear about your dick again, royal or not.”

Noctis couldn’t help his ears turning a rather violent shade of red, but Crowe was already making her way toward the Skee-ball machines. 

But they never got to play their game.  It was almost strange how in one moment everything was perfect, and then it wasn’t. 

It was the lights that went first, just a flicker for a moment before they went completely dead, red emergency lights filling the arcade. There was a wail of a child and the scream of children’s names, and the arm around Noctis tightened, pushing his head down.

“Noct? Noct!” Noctis could hear Prompto’s voice scream as a siren filled the air. The space of the open door was enough for Noctis to see the pink-tinged glass shatter across the sky. 

“Nifs! They’re attacking—“

The tremor from the ground cut off Cor’s yell, and Noctis fell under Nyx and Crowe’s weight. Everything was shaking, falling—was this an earthquake? 

No. 

It was an echo of a scream, a scream that wasn’t quite human but enough to set Noctis’s teeth on edge. He nearly bit off his tongue when Nyx and Crowe managed to get him to his feet, pulling him toward the exit. The ground swelled below their feet, the windows and ceiling cascading down in sheets. 

“The fuck—“ Noctis screamed as he finally made his way out of the door, hobbling but alive, thankful to see Libertus and Prompto holding onto a nearby swaying tree with Cor coming up behind them. 

“Look! There—“

Noctis looked up into the sky, towards the Wall his grandfather had erected so many years before. It was the Wall his father had sacrificed his magic and his life force for, all to keep them safe from invaders. All to keep them safe from Niflheim. 

There was a hole in the Wall, just above their heads. It was quickly filling with magic, but the entire skyline was like shattered crystal, the light bouncing in every direction. 

It held firm.

“ _Dad_.”

The ground slowly stilled, the trees finally coming to a stop. Some of the nearby building continued to sway, but the screech, that godsawful  _ scream _ , only got louder. Noctis found himself falling to his knees, he sandwich from earlier came back up in one quick motion. He was almost relieved that he wasn’t the only one on his knees. 

Noctis could see all of them on the ground, all of them clasping their hands over their heads as the screaming continued. He knew they were screaming, that he was screaming, that the sky above them had yet to stop. 

Noctis could feel his ears popping, and there was only so much more of that sound he could take. He fell onto his belly. If it didn’t stop, if it continued he was going to di—

There was something holding his head. He could feel skin pressing against his face, skin that was too warm to be his own. It was like the embrace of fire in the bitterness of cold. 

The silence was beautiful. 

Noctis sobbed into the ground and tried to push himself up onto his elbows, but the hands on him stopped him from moving. Who was holding him? He could see the shadows of the others rolling on the ground. 

"Hush, Noct. I am here." 

It was a voice that was locked in his memories, a voice that had no right to exist and yet  _ did _ . Plain as the sun in the sky, as the wind, as the pink Wall above him.

The imaginary friend who had left him all those years before stood, and it was like the floodgates of his memory opened, and Noctis reached up with one fumbling hand for the man's face.

"Iggy....?"


End file.
